


Heartstrung

by NoNamesFromCats



Category: Good Witch (TV), JAG (TV 1995), The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Banter, Bisexual Dana Scully, Camaraderie, Character Study, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Humor, Love Is Magic, Magic, Mention of Sarah Mackenzie (JAG), Monster of the Week, Moving On, The X-Files Revival, Undercover As Lovers, Witchcraft, lingering feelings, past mulder/scully
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26492806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoNamesFromCats/pseuds/NoNamesFromCats
Summary: Recently reconnected as friends after their breakup, Scully joins Mulder on an investigation of a small town that seems a little too perfect. While Mulder continues his quest for the truth, Scully tries to ignore her own complicated feelings. Scully POVSet in 2019 (after The X-Files Revival, and between seasons 5/6 of Good Witch)
Relationships: Cassie Nightingale/Sam Radford, Dana Scully/Sarah Mackenzie, Fox Mulder & Dana Scully
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an _X-Files_ story with a _Good Witch_ flavor and a tiny little dash of _JAG_. Enjoy!
> 
> content warning: Ch. 1 - mention of past pregnancy loss.  
> Throughout - Mentions of child loss, mentions of death by gunshot.

It wasn't the timing of the 5am text that surprised Dana Scully, but the fact that it was unaccompanied by Fox Mulder's usual flurry of follow-up messages adding details, out-of-context photos and reference links. In fact, the message contained only the words _Road Trip! U in?_ and an attachment that turned out to be a ticket for a flight to Chicago that day, under her name.

She grimaced in the dark of her bedroom, painfully aware that she hadn't been sleeping when the text arrived, that she hadn't been able to sleep for most of the night and that a “road trip” or whatever Mulder's definition of it was might not sit well after a restless night. 

Still, after waiting the obligatory half hour—a somewhat passive attempt at setting a boundary—she typed back a response and made her groggy way to the bathroom to ready herself for whatever he had in store. Standing under the shower's blast, she closed her eyes against the water and tried not to dwell on how grateful she was for the distraction.

X x X x X

After a relatively short flight that netted her another half hour of sleep, and one more text specifying a certain car rental kiosk, she approached the parking lot. Mulder was leaning against a mid-sized sedan dressed in khaki pants and a rumpled polo shirt with a khaki jacket under his arm. Scully had to admit, she missed his suit-and-tie days. The last vestige of his FBI past were the aviator Ray Bans covering his eyes. 

“You ready, Scully?” he asked, which she took to be a rhetorical question. “I got us some wheels.”

“You still haven't told me where we're going,” she said as she stepped out of her own car, “or what this case is—”

“You're driving,” he cut her off, lobbing the keys in her direction.

She followed their trajectory to the ground at her feet with an eyebrow raised. Truth be told, he hadn't actually mentioned a case. She had only assumed because, these days, that seemed to be the only acceptable pretext for their meeting up. But maybe this was something else. Maybe he was planning on leaving the whole Private Investigator thing behind to work full time on his blog. Whatever it was, she decided to humour him. She caught the next thing he threw—a folded paper map and a post-it note with a single word written on it.

“What's this—?”

“Later Scully,” he said, already rounding the car to the passenger seat.

She rolled her eyes and retrieved the keys from the pavement, getting into the driver's seat. At least this time she got to drive.

X x X x X

Maybe one of the reasons that Mulder had insisted on driving for all of those years was that he was a terrible navigator. Not a quarter mile down the highway he was fast asleep and seemingly unwakeable as she fumbled one-handed with the paper map. Fortunately, she could decipher the scrawl on the post-it note to be the name of a small town on a fairly direct route.

She tried to settle in, and ignore her frustration at being alone again with her thoughts. At least this time she had a task, and Mulder beside her—albeit unconscious. His presence was a comfort, and she was grateful to feel that way again, after the tumult of the last year when everything they'd been through and everything they'd fought for had finally come to a head.

Maybe they hadn't lost the battle with the enemy, but they'd lost their child, and the truth they had sought was a nasty one. Another blow. One she'd thought she'd be able to overlook when, for a brief, shining moment, it seemed a power beyond her science and Mulder's conspiracies had stepped in to give them another chance to be a family.

It was not the first time she had wanted to believe in something impossible. It was not the first time she had carried doubt inside her. She knew it was not her fault, for lack of belief or otherwise, when that miracle went away. There were other ways, of course, for her and Mulder to be parents, for them to be together.

But something had changed between them. Maybe it was that she'd had too many things taken away from her to start hoping for something new. Maybe a part of her blamed him. Or maybe, after all the years of running and hiding and ultimately, fighting, they were simply different people now. She knew she had changed. And whether Mulder had wanted to believe it or not, so had he. She was just the first one to admit it.

She glanced over at him, sprawled as much as his tall frame could sprawl in the room available, seat reclined, his deep breathing audible in the absence of the radio. One of her biggest fears had been that they wouldn't stay in each other's lives if they weren't in a romantic relationship. 

It turned out that fear was unfounded.

They'd gone their separate ways at first, of course. She'd broken down and grieved and thought for a while she'd never get back up. And it was almost a surprise when Mulder hadn't come to find her, to save her from herself. And it was a relief, because it wasn't something he could fix. This time she rescued herself, put herself back together with a modified patchwork of faith and science.

And then one day, about nine months later, around the time, in fact, that they could have been a family of three, Mulder called out of the blue. He had said nothing about the past, and for once she'd been grateful for his single-mindedness. He'd asked for her company on a stakeout. But this time there were no monsters and no aliens, just a mundane case of insurance fraud. She didn't remember talking about anything except the weather. Arguing about something or other. Bickering just like they used to. And she felt like she had finally stepped out of a dark place. 

X x X x X

“Wake up Mulder, we're here.” Scully pulled to a stop alongside the curb of a lively little Main Street. On the sidewalk beside them, pink and white flowers overflowed large cement planters and matched the hanging baskets overhead. Boutique stores displayed carefully-lettered sandwich boards and artfully arranged tables showing off their wares.

She scanned the curb for some sort of No Parking signage and saw none, but theirs was the only car parked on the street.

“Mulder,” she said again. He blinked groggily at her. “We're here.” She threw him the map with the post-it note still attached. “Now where—”

“Yoo hoo!” A high pitched voice and a knock on the driver's window made Scully jump.

She caught herself. A woman with a cherubic face and a pearl necklace gestured frantically for Scully to roll down the window. Reluctantly, she complied, cracking the window an inch.

“Yes?”

“I imagine that you are just sneaking in for a closer look at our picturesque Main Street, with its myriad shops and services,” the woman spoke and gestured with her hands as though she was presenting for a studio audience, “but parking here is strictly against the rules.”

“There are no signs,” Scully pointed out. 

The woman pursed her lips and puffed out her chest in its pink tweed suit. “My dear. It's unsightly to have cars parked willy nilly. It blocks the delightful view of the displays for the tourists who drive by.”

“Well, we're tourists.” Mulder piped up, finally sitting fully upright. The woman's face instantly softened. “And we'll be moving right along as soon as we can locate a motel.” 

“A motel.” The woman put a hand to her chest and looked almost scandalized. “Why there's nothing so crass as a motel in our little town. No, if your'e looking for a place to stay on short notice, I assure you, Grey House is where you'll no doubt want to be.” She produced a glossy, folded brochure from a pink clutch and slipped it through the gap in the window. “It's Middleton's most charming bed and breakfast.”

Mulder grabbed the brochure and Scully shot him a look. She hadn't exactly planned on this being an overnight trip.

“If it's that charming, wouldn't it be booked up, this late on a Friday?” she couldn't help asking.

The woman _tsked_ and raised her chin haughtily. “My dear—you'll find things have a way of working out in Middleton. Cassie will find a way! Just tell her that Mayor—I mean Martha Tinsdale—sent you.”

“Will do. Thank you ma'am.” Mulder saluted her with the brochure and the woman looked pleased. She gave them a jaunty wave and bustled back to the sidewalk, taking care to arrange an errant strand of ivy from one of the large pots before continuing on her way.

“Alright Mulder,” Scully said as she pulled the car back onto the quiet street. “Do you mind telling me why we're here and on our way to a bed and breakfast? Is this a case or not?”

“All in good time, Scully.” He made a show of opening the brochure. “Let's just get our bearings first. Turn here.” He waved her left at the next intersection. 

“What are you up to Mulder?” 

“Relax Scully, enjoy the small town charm,” he said as they left Main Street. 

He was putting her off and she probably shouldn't have let him get away with it, but when Mulder did something strange there was usually— _usually_ —a good reason for it.

She turned her attention to the rows of tidy houses on both sides. Not a single yard was unkempt, or any house painted a gaudy colour. The houses weren't new, but there seemed to be no signs of wear, no loose shingles, no cracked front steps. It brought to mind an old case in which a suburban community was policed by, well, _something_ that exacted deadly payment.

“This weekend, we're just Dave Dukinski and Jill Anders, away from the big city, wherever our hearts take us.”

She narrowed her eyes at the road instead of glaring at him. “Are you saying we're undercover as a couple?”

“Engaged.” 

She caught something sparkling out of the corner of her eye and glanced over. Mulder was holding out a ring to her. She took it and held it in her line of sight while keeping her eyes on the road. It was more than just a cheap prop. The band was molded in the shape of a snake eating its tail. An ouroboros. She knew it well—she had one that looked very much like it tattooed onto her shoulder. She noted the ruby chips in the eyes and the diamond set into the top of the head.

“Mulder...” She didn't know what to say. “Where did you get this?”

“From a client, in lieu of payment. A poor schlub bought it for his girlfriend and never got around to giving it to her.”

She doubted he was telling the truth. There was no denying how perfectly it fit on her ring finger. But that was a wound she didn't want to open.

“It's exquisite,” she said quietly.

“Now,” he said, breaking the moment, though she thought she heard a catch in his voice. “Let's find this Grey House.”

X x X x X

It wasn't hard to find. The so-called Grey House was indeed a large grey brick house in a cul de sac a couple of blocks away. A delicately scripted sign hanging from an ornate iron post confirmed it.

“At least the name fits,” Mulder said cheerfully as he grabbed a duffel bag from the back seat and bounded up the path to the front door. Scully sighed and grabbed the travel bag she'd packed with all the essentials for a weekend away. One thing she'd learned with Mulder was to always be prepared.

The interior of the house was nearly the opposite of the austere Georgian lines of the facade. Wood panelling warmed the walls up a large staircase, and antique furniture with rich brocade upholstery punctuated every corner. The subtle scents of beeswax and oil soap mingled with the flowers from blooming arrangements and added a homey touch.

“Welcome to Grey House,” a striking woman with dark hair and warm dark eyes greeted them from behind an old-fashioned lectern. “I'm Cassie Nightingale.”

Like the house itself, she looked expertly put together. Her makeup was flawless and not one strand of her straight dark hair was out of place. Her silk blouse and tailored skirt, supported by her upright posture, would have looked at home in any big-city boardroom. In heels, she was nearly eye to eye with Mulder, a fact Scully knew would not escape him.

Mulder introduced them. Did he have to pick such ridiculous-sounding names? “We don't have a reservation, but we're looking for a place to spend a night or two and a—” He paused like he was trying to remember. “A Ms. Martha Tinsdale said you might be available.”

“—That you might have a room available,” Scully amended, stepping towards them, just short of elbowing Mulder in the ribs. Too bad for Mulder, Cassie Nightingale's ring finger was otherwise occupied by a sparkling rock amid a flower filigree. She was reminded of the snake band on her own ring finger and suddenly felt uneasy. 

“Well, let's just see.” Cassie turned the large pages of the book in front of her. She looked up at them, seemingly disappointed. “I'm sorry, it seems we don't--” 

Suddenly, the lectern buzzed. Cassie picked up a cellphone and held up a finger. “I'm sorry, just one moment, please.” She answered the phone and after a greeting and a series of yes's, no's, and an “I'm sorry to hear that”, said good-bye and hung up with a smile on her face. “I'm happy to tell you that we've just had a cancellation.”

“What? Just now?” Scully was instantly sceptical. It seemed too good to be true.

“And you're in luck,” Cassie went on. “It's actually one of our larger rooms. I like to call it the engagement suite.” The smile she gave them was strangely knowing. Well, of course, Scully reminded herself, she was wearing an engagement ring, after all.

“Perfect.” Mulder was all smiles. He pulled Scully to him in an obligatory side squeeze and she tried to act like it didn't feel strange to be that close to him again. Strange yet familiar. “What are the odds?”

“I like to believe that things happen for a reason.” Cassie smiled and spun on her heel and led them up the creaking steps.


	2. Chapter 2

Scully nearly had to jog to keep up with Mulder as they passed through the back door of Grey House and into a garden. He didn't slow down until they were on a walking trail he must have found on the brochure he was still holding.

She hadn't gotten any information out of him even after Cassie left them to settle in to the room, which was quite spacious. It was furnished with a beautiful four poster bed and a fairly comfortable-looking daybed. Another lucky break. 

And the scenery here was beautiful, she thought, with all the lush green trees and the wildflowers along the path. Everyone who passed by them smiled and said hello or waved. And the air was clean and fresh, a noticeable difference from the city. It was nice here, she decided, but still having no idea why she was here in the first place was wearing down the good feeling.

After checking to make sure no one else was around, she planted herself in front of him. “Okay Mulder. You need to tell me what the hell's going on.”

Mulder gestured to something behind her. “What do you think, Scully?”

She turned around to see an old stone well just ahead of them on the trail. “It's an old well.” 

She took a step closer to it, just to confirm that that was in fact what was under the moss. She peered over the stone rim and into darkness. “It should be covered.” She glanced at the plaque beside it proclaiming the _Legend of the Well_. “According to this, any couple who throws a coin into the well together will have a happy relationship.” 

She frowned at him, wondering just what his reasoning had been for bringing her here. 

“Why? What do you think it is, Mulder? And what does it have to do with why we're here?”

“Truthfully, I don't know.” He took a lap around the well, appraising it from all angles. “This past week, my services were engaged by a man named Leon St. Cyr. He wanted to locate his missing niece.” He searched for something on his phone and showed her a photo of a woman with brown hair and a tired, unhappy expression on her gaunt face. If not for the fact that she wasn't looking at the camera, Scully might have taken it for a mugshot.

She was still suspicious. “That's what we came all the way out here for? A missing person?”

“Not a missing person, Scully—” He arched an eyebrow and pulled the map out of his jacket in a flourish. “A missing town.”

“I don't follow.” 

“What would you say if I told you we were standing near the centre of a town that doesn't exist on any map?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I'd say you need to put your glasses on, Mulder.” She took the map from him and found the word Middleton practically in the middle of it, plain as day. “I found it, remember?With that map. It's right here.” She pointed it out to him. It was almost hard to miss.

Mulder barely glanced down. He had that same glint in his eye that he used to get when they'd been assigned a new case on the x-files. “What if I told you I'd been staring at this map for three days and couldn't find it?” He held up a hand against her protest. “Even with my glasses on.”

He always had to play these games, didn't he? “Selective blindness. Hysterical myopia. I don't know, Mulder. But it's right there.” 

He finally glanced down to where her finger met the paper. “Yesterday I flew out here and drove the same road. Scout's honour Scully, I couldn't find it.” He held up two fingers in salute.

“So what, Mulder, it wasn't here and now it is? You really expect me to believe that?”

“I don't know yet, Scully. But I do know that I was not able to find this place when I was in the employ of Mr. St. Cyr. He told me the town was hiding her.”

She squinted in the early evening sun. “You mean the people here are?”

“No, I mean the town itself. He told me he'd lost track of her in 2014 and had reason to believe she'd moved back to their hometown. He came to the area to search for himself but never found the town. The last time he was here was 2006.”

“I think he was giving you the runaround, Mulder.”

“It's a possibility,” he agreed, and she tried to remember if he'd ever conceded that to her before. “Mr. St. Cyr is not a reputable man. In fact, when he contacted me he was a year into a life sentence for violent crimes. Needless to say, I believe his intentions towards Ms. St. Cyr were less than honourable.”

“I hope you terminated the contract.”

“Of course, Scully. But that doesn't mean there's nothing to investigate. What if this town is caught in some kind of space and time rift? Or has some kind of camouflaging force field—”

“Really, Mulder? A force field?” Why did he always have to jump to the most far-fetched explanations?

“Secret cities were erected and maintained on US soil by the government during both the cold war and World War II. Maybe they've upgraded their technology.”

She rolled her eyes. “Really Mulder, you think after all that we've seen and uncovered that any covert government project is going to let us waltz right in?” Their days of running might be over, but she had no doubt they were both persona non grata in any classified circles. 

“Good point.” He looked thoughtful. “But I know there's something going on here. I can feel it.”

“If you say so, Mulder.” She focused on the bright green foliage around them. It was quite pretty here, but so far nothing out of the ordinary for a small tourist town. “But where are you even going to start your investigation?”

“With dinner,” he replied cheerfully as he brushed past her on the path towards town. “Come on, Scully, let's find somewhere to eat. I'm starving.”

X x X x X

“So what do you think, Scully?” Mulder asked as they sipped iced teas on the back patio of The Bistro, a restaurant packed with well-dressed people, quietly chatting over delicious-looking food. Scully was hopeful that her order of blackened sea bass was not going to disappoint.

“It's a very nice-looking town,” she said. They'd walked along Main Street, peering in windows and dodging bustling locals. It certainly seemed picturesque. There wasn't a scrap of litter or an empty storefront. No graffiti or panhandlers, or even loud groups of teenagers congregating on a Friday night. She imagined Martha Tinsdale in full force, keeping the street in utmost perfection. 

“Anything seem a little off to you?”

She shrugged noncommittally, not wanting to fuel his fires of paranoia, while simultaneously casting a glance around at the fresh-faced diners. “I suppose it does seem a little...curated.”

“A little too perfect?” He made a loud noise sucking the last of his iced tea through its straw. “Yeah, I noticed. Clean, quiet. Everyone's cheerful and attractive. It feels like a scene out of that Jim Carrey movie where his life is actually a reality show. Like someone put out a call for Caucasian, heterosexual couples aged 25 to 50.”

She took a measured sip of her own drink, noticing that they indeed were mostly in pairs. “Mulder, are you suggesting these are all paid actors?”

“Now who sounds ridiculous?” He folded his sunglasses and put them on the table. “All I'm saying something doesn't feel right here. Did you notice a store we passed on Main street called Bell, Book and Candle?”

“Yes...”

“Did you get the reference?”

She knew he was testing her. “Traditionally, the items were part of an ancient Catholic excommunication ritual. For heresy.”

“Including witchcraft,” Mulder added. “Also a 1958 movie about a witch, starring Kim Novak.”

“And Jimmy Stewart. Yes, Mulder. I've seen it. So, what are you saying? That there's some kind of pseudo-christian cult performing obsolete rituals? Maybe a movie fan just opened a store.” She frowned. He had to be holding out on her.

Just as she suspected he would, Mulder reached into his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. “I did manage to find something online about Middleton. A journalist named Henry Kael wrote a piece in 2012. When I reached out to him to ask when he'd visited and if he'd ever returned, he told me that he hadn't tried. He said he'd made an embarrassing mistake the first time.”

She surveyed the printout. It read more like a travelogue than anything. “Which was?”

“He accused the town's Mayor of witchcraft.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“He wrote a blog post on it, complete with a video of her disappearing into thin air.”

“Mulder,” she started, a note of disbelief in her voice. “You couldn't have taken him seriously? With editing capabilities nowadays, almost anything can be faked. Videos aren't the proof they once were.”

“Well, he said it certainly caused a stir at the time, especially with the Mayor—or should I say the former Mayor—none other than our host, Ms. Cassie Nightingale.”

“The woman who runs Grey House?”

“The one and the same, Scully. Hael told me that he later realized that what he thought was magic had actually been a trick of the light, and he posted a retraction. Both of which have been lost to faulty computer equipment—or so he told me.”

“So he admitted there was an explanation that had nothing to do with magic.”

“It's food for thought at least.” Mulder said just as a server came and set their food in front of them. To Scully's delight, it was as good as it looked, and she felt a little more relaxed. It was a beautiful day outside and the umbrella over their table just happened to be tilted enough to keep her out of the sun, while letting Mulder bask. This was definitely not the worst place a case had brought them—if there even was a case. She was still unsure of that.

“You know,” Mulder said about halfway through his burger, munching thoughtfully on a wedge shaped fry that she eyed jealously. “I was thinking about something Cassie said—”

“So it's Cassie now?” She raised an eyebrow at his familiarity.

“She mentioned things happening for a reason.”

She shrugged and stole a fry off his plate. “That's not an uncommon philosophy.”

“But what if it applied, Scully? What if, in this town everything _does_ happen for a reason? Or at least, good things do?”

“I don't follow.”

“What if it's not just about keeping out the dangerous people, Scully, what if it's more than that? When we showed up at Grey House, we needed a room. Suddenly there's a cancellation. We were only pointed there because we ran into Martha Tinsdale...”

“She ran into us, you mean.”

He leaned forward. “For a reason, Scully. What if this place gives you what you want? Evelyn St. Cyr needed a hideout. Some place where no one could find her...”

“So we're back to magic?” She took another bite of her fish.

“What were you thinking of in the car, Scully?”

His question threw her off. She swallowed. “What?”

“In the car. Were you thinking of something you wanted?”

She shook her head, ignoring all the incriminating answers that volleyed to the forefront of her mind. “I wanted to find the town _you_ marked down so I could find out what the hell you dragged me into,” she said tartly. “And all of the things you've mentioned are relatively likely, if favorable, occurrences. Even taken together, they're not statistically improbable.”

“Well, why don't we test the theory, then? If things are going our way, we'll easily be able to locate Ms. St. Cyr.” Mulder sat back in his chair with his fingers laced together, looking pleased with himself.

“And how are we supposed to do that, Mulder? Ask everyone we run into if they know an Evelyn St. Cyr?”

“Do you mean Eve?” A cheerful female voice piped up from behind her. Scully twisted in her chair to see a blonde woman in a white apron approaching their table with a radiant smile. “I couldn't help but overhear—I'm Stephanie, the owner here, and I was just coming to check and see how our out-of-towners were enjoying their meals.”

“Wonderful, thank you,” Scully answered quickly, but she couldn't help frowning. “I'm sorry, did you say you knew Evel—I mean, Eve?”

“Why yes. I've known Eve a long time. She was born and raised here, same as me.” She smiled proudly. “Are you friends of hers?”

“We sure are,” Mulder said with just a hint of what she used to think of his “aw shucks” undercover voice. He reached out to shake her hand. “She and I were pen pals a long time ago. I was going over some old letters and she made the town sound like it had to be seen. So we thought we'd come up, and maybe say hi, if we managed to run into her.”

“Well.” Stephanie checked her wristwatch. “She'll probably be finishing up at work soon. She's the receptionist at Dr. Radford's office. It's just off Main Street, not far from here.”

“Much obliged,” Mulder said, all smiles, shooting a pointed look at Scully. “And the food was great.”

Stephanie beamed and left them alone.

Scully could feel his smugness from across the table as she went back to her meal. “It's a small town,” she reminded him. “People know each other.”

X x X x X

The town Doctor's office, like everything else they'd seemed to need, was only a short walk away, no map necessary, which was good, since Scully's phone seemed to be having difficulty finding their exact GPS location. She decided not to tell Mulder.

The clinic's waiting room was empty. A young woman sat behind the front desk, but she looked nothing like the photo Mulder had shown her, as well as a good deal younger. 

“Evelyn St. Cyr?” Mulder asked her.

“Oh no, I'm Grace Russell,” she smiled widely and held out a hand to shake firmly with both of them. “If you mean Eve, she had to leave early today, but is there something I can help you with? Would you like to see Dr. Radford?”

“We're actually old friends of Eve's,” Mulder said. “Pen pals, in fact. I'm Dave and this is my fiance Jill.”

Scully nodded hello, wondering how heavily he was going to lean on this whole pen pal thing.

“Ah.” The girl looked mollified. “Well, I'm sorry you missed her, but you can leave a message and I'll be sure to pass it along.” She paused for a moment, as though thinking. “I can let her know she can find you at Grey House.”

“How did you know that?” Scully asked. She couldn't imagine tourists were so scarce that news of an out of town couple would spread this quickly.

“Just a guess.” Grace smiled like she won a lot of guessing games.

“And she had a look at the guest register.” A familiar face rounded the corner. Cassie Nightingale stood beside a rather handsome man in a white lab coat. “I see you've met my daughter.” She gestured to Grace with a proud smile that hit Scully closer to home than she would have anticipated. “And this is Dr. Sam Radford.” By the proximity in which they were standing and the way she leaned into him, Scully could tell that this was the man behind the flower engagement ring. “Dave and Jill are staying at Grey house. They were a happy surprise when the Smith's cancelled at the last minute.”

“A surprise? I didn't think anything ever surprised you,” Dr. Radford said to his fiancée and hugged her closer. Then he turned to them. “I hope you're enjoying your time in Middleton so far.”

“We are,” Scully said. 

“Is there anything I can help you with?” he asked.

“We were actually just hoping to run into an old friend.” Mulder added “Your receptionist, as it happens.”

Dr. Radford smiled distractedly. “Eve usually has Friday afternoons off, but my day at the Hospital changed to tomorrow. I'm sure Grace will take a message.”

Grace was already brandishing a yellow post-it note. “I also sent her an e-mail,” she added. 

Mulder thanked her, but Scully was wondering just what was going to happen when Eve got word that two “old friends” whose names she didn't know were looking for her. She might assume they were trouble and leave town. Mulder had better know what he was doing.

“Well, I'm headed back to Main Street, if there's anything you two want help finding,” Cassie said, looking thoughtful for just a moment, a little like Grace had earlier. “If you enjoyed the flowers at Grey House, the shop that provides them is close by.”

Scully nodded. She had indeed noticed the flowers, and had had an out of the blue idea that she might like some in her own home. It might brighten the place up a bit.

“I noticed a store I'd like to take a look at,” Mulder spoke up. “But it was closed when we walked by. It was called Bell, Book and Candle. Do you know it?”

She smiled. “I do. Let me take you there. I have a feeling it will be open now.” She planted a kiss on Dr. Radford's cheek, waved to Grace and led Scully and Mulder out the door.

X x X x X

When Cassie Nightingale pulled a set of keys from her purse and unlocked the door of Bell Book and Candle, Scully avoided what was sure to be a triumphant look in Mulder's eyes. Everything happens for a reason indeed. She still wasn't ready to believe in Mulder's wish fulfilment theory.

“So you own this store?” Scully asked as Cassie lead them into an eclectic gift shop. Aromatic spices mixed with a couple of earthy notes in the air. At first sight was everything from peacock feathers to candles and teas, to an arrangement of little wooden dolls.

“That's right,” Cassie replied, busying herself behind the counter, “And I'm not usually closed so early on a Friday, but I'm a little short-handed today.”

“Seems to be going around,” Mulder muttered as he drifted past.

“Can I help you with something in particular?” Cassie asked Scully. 

She hesitated, her eye briefly landing on a display of earthenware tea sets. She clocked Mulder inspecting crystals at the back of the shop, out of eye- and earshot. “I'm looking for a gift. For a friend.” Even to her own ears, the word "friend" didn't sound quite right.

Cassie smiled at her, almost knowingly. There was a brief faraway look in her eye again. She approached a nearby glass cabinet and took something off of the top shelf. She turned and presented Scully with what looked like an old fountain pen.

“From the late 1800s. It belonged to Captain Marsten of the SS Miracle. On a return home to port, they were caught in a terrible storm and presumed lost at sea. But then, nearly a year later, the ship and everyone on it returned to their loved ones.” She handed the pen to Scully.

“That's a lot of backstory for a pen.” Scully attempted an interested smile and turned it over in her hand. It was nice, as far as antique pens went, with an elegant curved shape and filigree around what she assumed were the captain's initials, and at the top of it, a metal clasp worked to resemble the knotting of a rope. It was something her father might have liked when he was alive. As for anyone else, she really wasn't sure.

“I might have some ink in the back if you'd like to try it out,” Cassie offered. 

“I, uh, I think I'll keep looking,” Scully said, handing the pen back. “I think it might be a bit too messy.”

Cassie placed it back on the shelf, that enigmatic smile of hers never slipping. “Sometimes, I find even messy things can be worth holding on to.”

Scully couldn't help furrowing her brow. She might have asked what she meant, but at that moment Mulder reappeared at her side.

“Nice pen,” he said offhandedly as he dropped items onto the counter. Scully took a quick step away from the glass cabinet and eyed his pending purchases—a small clay figure of a woman with snakelike hair and what looked like a shiny black rock.

“Ah, black tourmaline.” Cassie nodded at his choice as she rang the stone through. “Very good for an energy pick-me-up. Some say it can banish negative influences if you sleep with it under your pillow at night.”

“Do you say that?” Scully couldn't resist asking. She doubted very much that one would wake up with anything other than a headache.

Cassie smiled. “I like to keep an open mind.”

“And what can you tell me about this?” Mulder held up the sculpture of the woman. Up close, Scully could see she had three faces and six arms, two of which held torches. 

“This is a representation of an ancient goddess of the crossroads. A guide for those searching for their path.” She cocked her head slightly and then made brief eye contact with Scully. “A good choice, I think.” 

Scully felt a sudden prickle at the back of her neck and was glad as Mulder gathered the handles of his bag and they turned to leave.

The moment they were back on the sidewalk, she felt like she could let out a breath. She didn't know why, but she was starting to feel a bit uneasy around Cassie Nightingale, almost as though the woman knew things about her she shouldn't have.

Scully turned to Mulder, who was swinging his bag nonchalantly as they continued walking. “What was with the sculpture?” It didn't seem like it would be at home in his apartment decor of newspaper printouts and old case souvenirs.

“The ancient Greeks called her Hecate. The triple goddess, ruling the domains of witchcraft, death and the moon. Ms. Nightingale didn't mention that. But maybe that's too _spooky_ for the locals.”

Scully couldn't help smiling at the mention of his old nickname. “Honestly, Mulder, what were you expecting to find? A sacrificial altar in the back room?”

“It would have been a good start.” 

She rolled her eyes. “So what now?”

Mulder stopped abruptly on the sidewalk, licking his finger and holding it up like he was testing the direction of the wind. He turned to her. “It's your turn, Scully. Where do you want to go?” He was watching her intently. She bet she knew what he wanted her to say.

“Let's go find those flowers.” She exaggerated a sigh as she saw his eyes light up.

“Good call.”

The shop was already visible across the street, a large sign reading “Abigail's Flowers and Chocolates” in flowing blue script and a sidewalk teeming with bright blooms. 

The woman at the till shot them a slightly frazzled smile as they entered. A dozen or more identical vases stood empty on every available surface around her as she stabbed long stemmed roses into one of them.

“Let me guess,” she said in greeting. “a dozen roses and the lovers fondu set?” She raised an eyebrow and peered a bit closer at them. “Or are you just browsing?” Seh said it like an accusation.

“Our host at Grey House sent us,” Scully told her. “The flowers there were beautiful. You're Abigail?”

The woman brightened immediately. “Yes I am. And yes you're right, the flowers there _are_ beautiful, if I do say so myself.” She looked at Mulder, who was seemingly entranced by a table of orchids, and then back to Scully. “You're in luck, if you want something simple. I've got this silly town council thing”—she glanced at her phone—“now actually. Oh well.” She stabbed another rose into the vase. “They can wait. I am the Mayor after all.”

“Oh,” Scully frowned. “Well, I don't want to keep you. Something simple would be nice. For our room, or perhaps something that would last til we make it back to the city.” No need to mention there was a flight between her and home.

Abigail grabbed a few stems of lilies from a cooler and plunged them into a vase. Scully was about to protest that she wasn't that fond of the smell, but Abigail had already added a handful of greens, and some other flowers in oranges and yellows and was fiercely arranging them. She relently internally as Mulder returned to her side.

“So you're the Mayor?” he asked Abigail.

“Yup.” She was already tying the vase in wisps of raffia, curling the ends with several violent strokes of a knife. “But amazingly I still find time to contribute to the local economy.”

“Do you get a lot of tourists in town?” Mulder asked. “It seems a little off the beaten path.”

“Ah. well.” She was concentrating on a getting a sprig of leaves to stand straight. “We get enough, I guess. Or at least the ones willing to spend a few bucks.” She looked up and cast an eye towards Mulder's bag. “I see you've been to my cousin's store. Did she help you find what you _really_ needed? ” She raised an eyebrow as she began to wrap the whole arrangement in clear cellophane. “Just the thing you didn't know you'd want.”

Scully frowned, remembering the pen, and the way that Cassie Nightingale had seemed so _sure_. “A little of that, I suppose.”

“She does that, you know. No one asks for it, of course. But she likes to get herself involved.” Abigail hammered a few staples through the top of the bundle. “The thing about Cassie is she thinks she has an in on what people need.” Stepping back, she admired her work. “But I like to give people what they _want_.” With a flourish, she rung up the arrangement. Scully had to admit, it was very pretty, and even through the cellophane, it smelled rather good.

The bell rang behind them as Scully picked through her wallet, hoping she had enough cash on her to pay, since Jill Anders was not the name on any of her cards and news seemed to travel fast in this town.

“Grace,” Abigail greeted the girl as she entered the store. “I've got to run. Will you close up? Thanks!” She didn't wait for an answer and was out the door before Scully had finished counting bills.

“Alright, I guess.” Grace shrugged it off and stepped behind the counter with an easy authority, placing a stack of books down beside her. “My mom saw you come in here and thought you might need a hand. I'm on my way back to Grey House—I can take your flowers with me so you can keep looking around.”

“That's very nice of you,” Scully said as she handed her the cash. As Grace was counting out her change, Scully spied a book of SAT prep on top of the stack.

“Studying for your SATs?” she asked.

“Tutoring, actually. Just for some extra money. I start college in the fall.”

“Congratulations. What are you studying?”

“I haven't decided yet.” She bit her lip. “There are a lot of things I'm good at and a lot of things I like, so I'm kind of torn. Maybe medicine? Or journalism? I don't know. But my mom always says, any experience can teach us, if we're open to it. I just kind of wish I had it more figured out.”

“Don't we all,” Scully sighed without meaning to. The girl's candour was contagious.

“What do you do?” Grace asked her.

She glanced at Mulder, wondering how deep undercover they were supposed to be, and then decided to be honest. “I'm a professor at a medical college.”

Grace's eyes shone. “Really? That's amazing! And you?” she asked, turning to Mulder.

“I've had some trouble finding my passion,” Mulder replied. “Right now, I'm interested in genealogy.”

“Oh, that's great.” She seemed to genuinely mean it. “Have you seen the archives at City Hall? There are all sorts of records there all about the founding families. Middleton has tons of history.”

“It seems like a very nice town.”

“It's great. Although, I guess I'm biased since I've lived here all my life. But I bet a lot of people would tell you how much they love it here.”

Mulder approached the counter. Scully could tell he was digging for a certain answer and busied herself looking at a nearby display of handmade chocolates.

“It seems like a place where people live their whole lives,” he went on. “I guess it's going to be a big change, going away to school.”

Grace frowned. “Yeah. I mean, I'm a little nervous, but I suppose that's normal, even when you're technically an adult.”

“Definitely.” He nodded encouragingly. “Some kids take a gap year and travel, just to get a better idea of themselves. Some just to get away for a bit. You ever consider that?”

She looked slightly wistful. “Not really. I love school. I know I've never really been anywhere, other than Blairsville, but I've never really felt the need to. Not like my mom. She travelled all over the world before she bought Grey House, and met my dad. That's when she decided to stay.”

“Does he still live in town?” Mulder asked. Scully could tell by the way his brow furrowed and he hunched over slightly, he was getting closer, just.

“He died when I was ten,” Grace said.

“I'm so sorry.”

“It's alright. It was hard for a long time, but we're all in a good place now. My mom's happy with Sam and I mean, life goes on, right?”

“Yeah.” Mulder nodded. She thought, a bit sadly. “That's a very mature way to look at it.”

Grace beamed and waved them goodbye as they left the store.

X x X x X

Scully let Mulder lead her farther down Main Street. 

She waited until they were almost at the end of the row of colourful shops to speak. She still had the vague feling they were being watched.

“So did you get what you were looking for?” she finally asked him.

“Possibly.”

She frowned at his cryptic answer. “So what now, Mulder? You've admitted that you're not looking for Evelyn St. Cyr for your client. There's been no crime committed here. Except for a few coincidences, here's nothing out of the ordinary happening here. Personally, I think this whole magic town theory is a waste of time.”

“I've got one more piece of information, Scully. Proof that something strange is going on in this town. I had a look at county records before we got here. I found records for Middleton with them. Before 2008, but nothing after. Except for one. A death certificate.”

“For Eleven years? There must be something wrong with the system, Mulder.”

“And this wasn't some old lady passing away in her sleep,” he went on. “The town Sheriff was killed on duty by a wanted murderer who later confessed and died in state custody. The victim was a 55 year old man named Jacob Russell. That last name ring a bell to you, Scully?”

“Grace Russell's father?”

“Bingo. She said her dad died when she was ten. She's said she's going to college next fall. But the death certificate was from 2014. That would make her fifteen now.”

“So she didn't give us the exact date of her father's violent death. Or she's on an advanced track. She seemed fairly intelligent.” She'd mentioned being an adult, but what kid was one hundred percent truthful when talking to strangers? “You're reaching Mulder.”

“And the fact that there's only one record? Why that one?”

“I don't know, Mulder. A murder is harder to overlook. Maybe it was investigated in another jurisdiction. It could be any number of things.” She could see by his expression that he wasn't buying her vague explanations. “But it certainly doesn't support your theory of people getting what they want.”

“You never know, Scully. I think it's worth looking into. I have a feeling we're being pointed in the right direction.”

“By whom, Mulder?”

“By fate.”

X x X x X

They wandered a little more down Main Street, passing the beautifully historic City Hall, but by then it was too late to look at the town records. Possibly they'd be available the next day, even though it was a weekend.

“You never know, Scully,” seemed to be Mulder's response to everything. She suspected he was waiting for someone to walk up to them and give them another clue. As it was they had close to nothing. 

Finally he agreed to head back to Grey House. The sun was falling now just beyond the trees, dappling them in golden light. They walked silently along the little path past the old well.

It was nice to be back by Mulder's side, as she had been for all of those years. Scully couldn't help wondering if he was expecting something to happen between them, for them to fall back into old patterns. They'd found comfort in each other's arms before. 

But every time, one way or another, it had caused them both pain. If he had leaned down that moment, and kissed her, would she have returned it? Truthfully, she didn't know. Even having that image in her head made her feel guilty. It was hard not to be when she was wearing the engagement ring she had no doubts he had picked out for her.

When they reached Grey House, Mulder disappeared into the shower and she took the opportunity to explore on her own. The hallway outside their bedroom was dark, save for light filtering up from the first floor and a line of light under the closed master bedroom door. 

She tiptoed towards the stairs—no easy feat, considering how the old floorboards creaked. She thought she heard voices from the master bedroom and continued downstairs. In the adjacent living room, she lit a small table lamp and made her way along the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

There was still a part of her focused on Mulder's “case”, even though the scientist in her had already written it off. She scanned the book titles anyway, trying to gauge what, in Mulder's mind, would count as relevant. Certainly not the battered copy of Grey's Anatomy. Possibly the book on herbal remedies beside it. Or the large volume on Egyptian art after that. 

She scanned the whole bookshelf for anything incriminating, although as far as she was concerned, even a dog-eared Grimoire would be no proof of anything other than Cassie Nightingale kept a home as eclectic as her store. 

She left the bookshelf and moved on to inspect the tchotchkes over the mantle.

“Can I help you with anything?” 

Scully turned quickly, aware that she hadn't seen anyone approach from the kitchen, or heard anyone on the stairs. But perhaps their host just knew where to step. 

“I was just looking around,” Scully said. “It's such a beautiful old house.”

Cassie's smile was appreciative. “It's certainly been a good home to me.”

“Everything's so well kept. Have you had it a long time?”

She smiled. “It feels like a lifetime. Although it took me a while to find the right place to settle down.”

“You're not from here?”

“My ancestors were.” She nodded to a looming portrait of a woman that looked strikingly like her in old-fashioned clothing above the fireplace. The woman stared straight ahead with Cassie's same enigmatic smile. “Elizabeth Merriwick owned the house, but it was built by her family generations earlier.”

“They left a very nice legacy.”

“They did. The Merriwicks were one of the town's founding families. There's a lot of history there if that's something you find interesting.” Cassie reached into a drawer and pulled out a brochure for the town museum. On the cover was a photograph of a faceted red stone heart.

Scully glanced at it briefly. She doubted any answers she or Mulder sought would be on public display.

“It's a lovely place to spend a Saturday afternoon,” Cassie went on. “Just the presence of the Heart of Middleton is said to inspire a couple's happiness.” She smiled as though that was supposed to mean something to Scully.

She realized she was fiddling with the ring Mulder had given her. “It sounds...very nice, “ she said carefully.

“Of course, not everyone believes that sort of thing, even in Middleton.” Cassie smiled fondly. “But this is a wonderful place for people falling in love.”

It was a hard sell if she had ever heard one. It seemed to her half this town's attractions were built on couples finding love. She supposed that was solid marketing and that Cassie was merely doing her part to encourage the experience.

Too bad she was way off.

X x X x X

“I ran into our host,” Scully announced when she returned to the room. Mulder was fresh from the shower, wearing a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, his hair still damp and mussed. 

“Did she say anything interesting?”

“Not especially.” She grabbed her overnight bag and attempted to stuff the brochure she was still holding onto into it.

“Nothing about...the Heart of the town?”

She looked over and saw that he was holding the same brochure with the heart-shaped gemstone on it, one of many fanned along the bedside table. She smirked. She should have know. “It seems she's got some kind of sponsorship going on.”

“In the brochure it says the Heart of Middleton is believed by many to grant love and happiness to lovers within its sight. Its very existence is said to bolster the goodwill and fellowship of the town itself. We should go check it out first thing,” he said, sitting on the bed she'd graciously yielded to him to avoid his long legs cramping on the daybed. “Although, it looks like you've been doing okay on your own.” He held up her cellphone.

“What?” She grabbed it and quickly unlocked the screen to an incoming text she'd been both waiting for and dreading. _Thinking of you ;)_ She glared at Mulder even as she felt her cheeks heat. “You read my texts?”

“No. I was here when 'M' texted.”

She gave him the blankest look she could manage, and stuffed her phone into her carry-onsuitcase, praying he would let this go.

“Nice code, Scully, but I thought I was the only M in your life?” He looked infuriatingly amused.

“It's nothing, Mulder.” She grabbed the t-shirt she had packed as a makeshift nightgown and her toiletries bag and brushed past him into the washroom. 

She took a long shower, and extra care with her nighttime routine, hoping by the time she was finished he would have fallen asleep.

No such luck. 

“So what's his name?” Mulder asked the moment she slunk out of the washroom. She ignored him, making a show of preparing the daybed. “Malcolm? Mitch? Mac?”

She flinched the slightest bit. 

“Come on, Scully, don't tell me you're dating a guy named Murphy.” 

Scully rolled her eyes. “No, Mulder, I'm not.”

He gestured to the bag that she'd left the phone in. “Well, you're not going to leave Mr. Winky Face hanging are you?”

She put it in her bag without looking at it. “Good night, Mulder,” she said with cool finality as she lay down. She pulled the covers up to her chin and turned away from him, even though that wasn't the side she usually slept on.

“Oh come on, Scully. I think it's great that you're finally dating again.” 

She bristled at his patronizing tone. “That you know about,” she snapped back, and then regretted it. They'd both been covert about their romantic lives since reconnecting and she couldn't say she wasn't grateful about not being inundated with a list of his _acquaintances_. And truthfully, this was her first anything that might actually mean something after him. But she didn't want to think about that right now.

“Good night, Mulder,” she said again, hoping he would get the message.

“Good night, Scully.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Meredith?”

“What, Mulder?” She blinked at him from the passenger seat of the rental car on their way to the Middleton Museum the next morning.

“Does M stand for Meredith?”

“You think I'm dating a woman named Meredith?” she asked, purposely being obtuse. Honestly, she hadn't expected him to consider it.

“Well, are you?” 

She hesitated, wondering if she would be opening herself up to a weekend of awkward, teasing questions, if she could trust him with this, or if he wold react in a way that she wasn't prepared for. But in the end, she did want to give one of her oldest, closest friends the benefit of the doubt.

“No, Mulder, her name is not Meredith,” she said, the haughty note in her tone to mask her nerves.

“Aha. So you admit she's a woman.”

Her heart was beating faster, but she tried to act nonchalant. “So, Mulder? I told you I had feelings for women when we were together.”

“You also said you couldn't imagine acting on those feelings.”

“We were together. I believe in monogamy.”

“It was more than that and you know it, Scully.”

His insistence annoyed her, but he was right. She fingered the cross pendant she'd begun wearing again and was silent. It was something she'd taken a long time to accept and even then, she'd made no place for it in her life. Not back then, back when she'd thought she'd known exactly how she wanted her life to turn out. 

And then came Mulder and the X-files, and for so long she clung to that idea of who she wanted to be. The by-the-book, rational one, who grounded Mulder in all his flights of fancy. He had always been the one to jump into the unknown, the one willing to take a risk, not her, and at the time, she'd found strength in that. But now? Now, she had no such ideals to live up to. Now she was taking her own risks.

“So what does she do?” he asked. “This Meredith.”

She decided to throw him a bone, but kept her answer vague. “She's a naval lawyer. “

“Sounds tedious.”

“It's not. It's actually—I mean, she's—well, it's been really, uh, _good_.” She felt flustered, but oddly relieved to finally talk about this with somebody. “We actually have a lot in common.”

“A devastatingly handsome colleague who keeps her on her toes?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Among other things.”

“So? What's the problem then?” He was driving infuriatingly slowly. She suspected it was on purpose.

“I didn't say there was a problem.”

“Did you text her back yet?”

She rolled her eyes, but she couldn't bring herself to lie to him. “No.”

“Why not? If it's lingering feelings for me, then Scully, I hereby give you my blessing.”

“It's not that.” She said it seriously, but maybe, maybe it was, just a little, tiny bit. They'd been together for a long time, after all—if not as romantic partners, then as colleagues. Even now, he was who she thought of if someone said the word "family". She sighed, looking sideways at him. “You're really okay with this?” She wondered if in his shoes, she would be.

“I want you to be happy, Scully.”

It was a touching sentiment and she wanted to believe him. Perhaps it was guilt that wouldn't let her. “Are you happy, Mulder?”

He was silent. She felt the curve of the ring on her finger and reminded herself it wasn't up to her to ensure his happiness, if such a thing was even possible. But that didn't mean it didn't bother her.

“Well, thank you,” she said, “For your well wishes.”

“But—?”

He wasn't going to let this go. She supposed she had expected it, knowing him the way she did, and perhaps a part of her had counted on it. After all, he was the one person she knew who had the best chance of understanding.

“She has children, Mulder.” She glanced over at him, to see if she could read anything in his expression. She could not. “Adopted. A girl and a boy. Her daughter's only a couple of years younger than...” She trailed off without saying the name of their late son. She didn't have to. She knew William would be a nanosecond away from Mulder's thoughts as much as he was hers. No matter who William had ultimately been, and what his existence had ultimately meant, for seventeen years he had been the son between them.

His expression was still unreadable, but she knew she wouldn't have to elaborate on why this might be such a hard risk for her to take. To open herself up to parenthood again after giving up on the very idea over and over. After trying so hard to find peace with it. She hadn't really contemplated coming at it from another angle, certainly not one fraught with such uncertainty. Would it fulfill her, or it would feel hollow? And to possibly get close, knowing it could end. She didn't know if she could open herself up to another young life and have to say good-bye.

“I don't know if I can do it.” 

They sat in the wake of her words, listening to the purring engine as Mulder steered them towards their destination. To her, his silence said he knew her pain.

X x X x X

The museum was one of the many picturesque historic buildings they'd driven past. All of which seemed to be in perfect condition, as though the whole town had sat in careful storage for decades.

The Heart of Middleton sat on a velvet pillow surrounded by a glass case. True to its name, it was a large, translucent stone faceted in the shape of a Valentine's heart.

“This claims it's a ruby,” Mulder said, pointing to the placard beside it. “What do you think, Scully? What's the chance that thing's real?”

“I'm no expert, Mulder, but I'd say a gem of that colour and clarity is certainly larger than anything I've heard of. It would be worth millions.”

He glanced around. “And yet here it sits in a cheap glass case near the door, no security in sight. Sort of remarkable, don't you think?”

She skimmed the information leaflet she'd picked up. “According to this, it went missing once, and _the people of Middleton found that without its heart, the town was a very different place_ ,” she read. “ _When it was recovered soon after, love returned._ ”

“Maybe this heart is more integral to the town than it's given credit for. Magical spells are sometimes said to be tied to an object or talisman.”

Scully shook her head. “Again with the witchcraft, Mulder?”

“Did you see who donated it to the museum?” He tapped the glass. She squinted to read the bottom of the placard. _Donated by Cassandra Nightingale and Family._

“So, Mulder? She's a descendant of one of the town's founding families, The Merriwicks.”

“I think I'd like to dig into the Merriwick family a little more. I just need access to the town archives.” He checked his phone. “It's possible they have Saturday hours.”

She sighed inwardly. If she didn't want to spend the rest of this weekend indulging him in his wild goose chase, she was going to have to try to prove his hypothesis wrong.

“Alright, Mulder. I've been thinking about the death records. If there's a mistake online, I might be able to access them at the county hospital.” It might not be as easy as flashing a badge, but she imagined she could talk her way into it.

“That makes sense.” He tapped his finger on the glass again. “But if you leave Middleton looking for something incriminating, I guarantee you you aren't getting back in.”

“Mulder, you don't know that for sure.”

“Humour me, Scully.”

“Fine.” She dug Grey House's brochure out of her purse and flipped it to the back for a map of the town. “So you think the town is protected from bad influences by magic”—she hoped if she said it out loud he'd realize how ridiculous it sounded—“but Dr. Radford mentioned work at the hospital, so it seems the citizens of this town are allowed to come and go. Theoretically then, if I'm with him, I should be able to get back to town.” She gave him a challenging look. “Is that enough for you?”

“Sounds like a plan to me, Scully. Let's go find the good Doctor.”

X x X x X

The clinic wasn't too far away, and the turn-around sign on the door proclaimed it to be open.

A blond woman cheerfully greeted them from the front desk. It took Scully a moment to reconcile the image before her with the sullen-looking woman in the photo Mulder had shown her.

She could tell from his subtle shift in body language that Mulder recognized her too. He stepped up to the counter. “Evelyn St. Cyr?” he asked with a lowered voice, even though they were alone in the waiting room.

Evelyn's smile changed immediately, flattening into a bewildered line. “Yes?”

“Ms. St. Cyr, my name is Fox Mulder. I was hired as a PI by a Leon St. Cyr to locate you.”

Her already pale face ashed down another shade. “Is this—is this blackmail?” she whispered.

“No ma'am,” Scully jumped in. “My colleague isn't interested in sharing any information with Mr. St Cyr.”

“You have my word,” Mulder confirmed. “I thought you might like to know he's since been incarcerated. For the foreseeable future. I alerted the facility about his attempts to solicit outside help and they're keeping a closer eye on him.”

Eve brightened considerably. “Well, that's—I mean, I'm very sorry for his...” She bit her lip but there was still a ghost of a smile on her face. “Thank you for letting me know. I can't believe you came all this way.”

Scully could see that Mulder had found his opening. “Ms. St. Cyr, I was hoping you could answer a question for us.'”

“Eve, please. And of course.” Her smile returned to its full wattage.

“Do you know anything about the use of magic in Middleton?”

She broke into a giggle. “Magic? Like at a kid's birthday party?”

“No, more like witchcraft,” Mulder said.

Eve looked confused again. “I'm afraid I can't help you there.”

“Did you know you're be safe here? In this town? It's where you're from, isn't it?” Mulder asked. “Why come back, when it's the first place someone would come to find you?”

“I—” Eve's gaze was darting between the two of them. Scully was sure that whatever came out of her mouth next would be a lie.

But they were interrupted as Dr. Radford appeared suddenly around the corner, briefcase in hand. “Ah, you're back,” he said, seeing them. “And you've found who you've been looking for.”

Eve's expression somehow projected both relief and apprehension. Mulder glanced at Scully and she remembered her mission.

“Actually,” Scully broke away from the desk and approached the doctor, “I have a favour to ask. I have a bit of research I was hoping to do at the local hospital for a forensic pathology course I'm teaching.” 

“Oh,” He brightened. “I didn't realize you were in the medical profession.”

She nodded, knowing that she was getting dangerously close to giving out too many real details. On the other hand, she seriously doubted that anyone here would be checking up on her.

“Of course, I'll give you a ride,” he said. “It's been a while since I spent much time in the company of a med school professor.”

“Great.” She nodded towards Mulder and Eve. “You two can catch up.” And she hurried out the door with Dr. Radford before either of them could say another word.


	4. Chapter 4

“Mulder, I found something,” Scully hissed into her phone as she climbed the stairs from the basement archives. Reception was still bad; she'd barely heard his voicemail answer through the glitches. “We should be on our way back.” She hung up, not sure that he'd get the message, or if it would be understandable.

She held the folder of photocopied documents tight as she stepped out of the stairwell and instantly spotted Dr. Radford heading her way down the hallway.

“Ready to go?” he asked, cheerful and unhurried. “There's a storm that might be heading our way, but with any luck, we'll miss it. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yup. I think I did,” she said and followed him towards the exit.

X x X x X 

Unfortunately, Sam's luck only held until they turned onto the highway, where the storm hit them full blast. The rain pelted them in sheets as Sam navigated the waterlogged asphalt. They came close to hydroplaning twice and when Scully took out her phone, there was no service.

 _Of course there wasn't._ She could almost hear Mulder's admonishment.

And then the car started making sounds. Clunking sounds that became so loud she could hear them clearly over the wind and rain. The car seemed to be shaking from underneath.

“I better pull over,” Sam raised his voice over the cacophony. Carefully, he managed to manoeuvre the car onto the shoulder. He turned the engine off and they sat in silence but for the onslaught of the storm as the hazards flashed.

When Sam tried to restart the car a moment later, the hazard lights went out and the engine didn't seem to evenmake an attempt.

“Huh,” he said. “It's completely dead. It must be the alternator or something, but there's usually some kind of warning.” He sat back in utter confusion.

“Huh,” she echoed him, thinking of the most logical explanation—if someone could have possibly tampered with the car, and who might have had the motive. Her phone still had no service.

She stared ahead, as the winds parted the deluge for just a moment and she could see a sign spotlighted in the headlights just beyond their reach. 

_Welcome to Middleton._

X x X x X

Oncoming headlights blazed though the darkness towards them. Scully thought about getting out to wave it down but the car might not see her and before she'd made a decision, it had passed them by. She watched the red of the tail lights disappear, swallowed by the storm. Perhaps Sam was right that they would just have to sit and wait this one out.

But then headlights appeared from behind them and stopped not too far away. Through the rain, she saw two figures emerge from the vehicle. She could tell one was Mulder, loping through the water, his arms an ineffective cover for his head.

Relieved, she opened the door, tucking the file folder beneath her jacket. For a moment she had started to believe in his wild theories. 

“Mulder.” She met him and cowered under his shadow as they ran back to Cassie's car.

X x X x X

Except for a heartfelt thank you to Cassie for helping rescue them, Scully kept quiet as they drove towards Middleton. She didn't say a word about the files or what she'd found until she and Mulder were locked in the bathroom with the shower running, at Mulder's insistence. Currently, she wasn't in the mood to protest. Her clothes were nearly soaked and the steam from the shower and the fluffy white towel she had wrapped around her wasn't doing much for her chills.

The photocopied records she'd had were thoroughly ruined in the downpour. The paper had become a pulpy, unreadable mess, even though the folder she'd protected inside her jacket was only slightly damp.

“I told you, Scully,” Mulder said, pacing the small bathroom. “There's something working against us here. I'm guessing the information in those documents lends credence to my theory?”

She didn't want to encourage him. But the documented proof she'd found was...unusual, to say the least.

“Alright, Mulder. I found Jacob Russell's Death Certificate. Dated 2014 like you said. It was indeed the only certificate of death from Middleton signed off in the last ten years. The one previous to that was a man named Nathaniel McCreary who died of an overdose late September 2008. Prior to that were a more appropriate number of deaths for a population of this size.”

“I told you, Scully.” He looked extremely pleased with himself.

She took a breath, almost not wanting to tell him the next part. “I also found Grace Russell's birth certificate: father, Jacob Russell, mother, Cassandra Nightingale. But it was dated October 15th, 2012.”

Mulder frowned. “You mean to tell me the girl we met is only seven years old?”

“It's possible it was a typo—a one instead of a zero. That would make her seventeen.”

“How likely is that, Scully? We've got a lead here. You said death records were normal until September 2008. I spoke to Evelyn—she said she left Middleton in 2006, and when she came back in 2015 it was different. Good different. And she was right. I've looked at the records—crime, unemployment, even parking tickets, incredibly low here, all tapered off since 2008. The vacancy rate of commercial property is 0, there are no homeless people, no one living below the poverty line. It's a veritable utopia, Scully.

“Eve told me she'd just had a feeling that she should come back. Something happened in this town to change it, Scully, and we can pinpoint it around September 2008. According to the town records, that's when Cassandra Nightingale, under the name Sue Ellen Brock, was granted lease of the commercial space for Bell, Book and Candle. It's also around the time she moved to Middleton, and met Grace's father for the first time.”

Scully crossed her arms. “Where are you getting that information from, Mulder? It couldn't have been in the archives.”

“I ran into Martha Tinsdale. Imagine that, Scully. She was more than happy to answer questions about the town and the people in it. As to when Cassie Nightingale moved to town, she said it was the mid nineties. She swore that Jake Russell and Cassandra Nightingale were married in 1997 and Grace was born in 2000.”

“So it must have been a typo—”

“Or it was a spell.” Mulder stopped his pacing and planted himself in front of her. “Seems Cassie Nightingale wasn't exactly welcomed with open arms back in the day. Martha admitted she'd accused her of practicing 'the dark arts' when she first opened her shop. She still believes Cassie's got a 'gift'.”

“What does that mean, Mulder?”

“That we've found our ground zero.”

X x X x X

When they finally emerged from the bathroom, they still hadn't agreed on a plan. Scully maintained the whole thing could be explained by a few lies told and a couple of serious clerical errors, but Mulder was adamant that the key to it all was right in front of them—they just had to fit it all together.

“That doesn't support your theory, Mulder. Why would whatever this is be helping us expose it?”

He looked like he was about to reply when there was a knock on the door. They both immediately took a step back, angling their bodies like they'd been trained to when approaching a suspect. Scully wondered if Mulder had brought some kind of weapon, just in case.

“Come in,” Mulder said.

The knob turned. Cassie Nightingale entered holding a tray with two steaming mugs on it. “I thought you might like some hot tea.” She smiled at them and set the tray on the nightstand.

“Thanks,” Mulder said, still tensed, like he was waiting for something. 

Cassie straightened, looking from one to the other. “Well, that was some excitement for the evening. Did the two of you find what you were looking for?” Her tone had meaning in it.

Scully was immediately on guard. 

“I think you know the answer to that,” Mulder replied.

Cassie cocked her head, her expression neutral. “What makes you say that?” she asked lightly.

“You were the one who said we should go and check on Scully and Dr. Radford. You knew there'd be a problem with them getting back into town.” Mulder was edging towards the end of the bed, possibly trying for a clear path out, just in case.

“The storm was getting worse,” Cassie said. “I had a hunch.”

“I think you had more than a hunch.” Mulder countered. “I think you know about what's protecting this town. I think you made it happen.”

“The storm?” She looked amused.

“The spell,” Mulder said. “Whatever it is. You did it. It started when you moved here. All of a sudden things were better. A lot better. People don't remember much because they think it was a long time ago. They think you've been here a lot longer than you have. Why is that? Is it because you wanted to give them time to forget? Because if they remembered what they thought about you when you first came here, they might be able to put it together? You use magic to keep this place the way it is.”

Cassie Nightingale was silent, but she didn't look confused, or defensive. She looked calm. “Mr. Mulder,” she paused as though to let it sink in exactly how much she'd been holding back. Scully saw Mulder's jaw twitch and she wondered how Cassie had discovered them. “There is magic in Middleton, but it's not what you think. It's love. The people of Middleton have a lot of love for each other and love for this town--”

“Does that include your late husband?” Mulder asked.

Scully saw a ghost of a frown over Cassie's face. “Jake loved this town very much.” Her voice was a touch more measured, a tiny bit quieter. “He did his job to protect the people of Middleton every day until his last.” There was no anger in her tone, but Scully felt force behind her words.

“Is that what he was doing? Is that why his is the only death registered to Middleton in the last eleven years? Was he helping you, or was he trying to break the spell? Or did he even know what you were doing?”

Cassie's eyes were glistening. “Jake was very special. He wanted his family to grow up safely. He wanted the people here to have good, happy lives. His death was a tragedy for the town and for my family.”

“Of course it was.” Scully interjected, hoping Mulder would realize that this track didn't seem to be working.

“There's a rule about it though, isn't there?” he went on, full steam ahead. “In spell-casting. What you put out, you get back, threefold. Harm none. You were keeping out the bad. Diverting those who you deemed harmful. People you couldn't easily put under your spell. And it backfired, didn't it?

“You said Middleton's magic is love, and you were partly telling the truth. Your magic is based on love, that's why the spell took someone you loved. That was price, wasn't it? You protected the families of Middleton, so the spell took yours.” Mulder was still moving, nearly directly between her and Scully.

Cassie was blinking back full tears now, but she didn't wipe her eyes. She stood tall and folded her arms. “Everything happens for a reason,” was all she said, but her voice sounded like it might break.

“Everything happens because you make it happen,” Mulder continued, not backing down. “What happened to Grace? How does she look and act like a nineteen year old when she was only born seven years ago?”

“Because she's a Merriwick.”

Scully blinked. Abigail from the flower shop was suddenly in the room with them, her hand protectively on Cassie's shoulder. “And when we Merriwick women get together, strange and interesting things can happen.” Abigail looked at Cassie. “You all right, cuz?”

Cassie nodded.

Abigail narrowed her eyes at Scully and Mulder. “I knew you were here to cause trouble. It's too bad, that I'm about as much trouble as these people can handle now.” She put her hands on her hips. “But Cassie didn't want you sent away. She thinks you deserve to get what you came for.”

Her words were ominous. “Which is?” Scully asked.

“The truth,” Cassie said, once again with full composure. “You want to know if happiness is possible. If there really is a place where you can leave your troubled past behind you and be safe. And yes, it is possible. It does exist.” She looked at both of them in turn.

“All you need is a magic spell,” Mulder said. 

“You need to believe it's possible,” Cassie countered. “After Jake died, I admit, I went to a dark place. I felt like there was nothing I could do anymore. I suffered. Grace suffered. The whole town suffered. Sometimes bad experiences make you grow up faster.”

Abigail snorted. “Literally.”

Mulder frowned. “It was the spell?”

“No,” Cassie said. “It was Grace. She's always been very...gifted. But she was too young to understand, and I couldn't—I wasn't able to stop her, or reverse it. So I did what I could.”

“You made everyone remember the timeline differently,” Mulder filled in. “Grace said she was ten when he died. Is that what she thinks?”

“It's what she remembers. We chose that together—the memories.”

Scully swallowed. That hit her in an old, uncomfortable place. She had spent her fair share of time searching for lost memories. She knew how precious, or how devastating they could be.

“How are you going to stop the spell from going wrong again, from taking what you love again?” Mulder asked.

“Well that's where I come in, silly.” Abigail grinned. “Two heads are better than one, and two Merriwicks...well, lets just say we share the load.” She looked knowingly at Cassie and then back at Mulder and Scully. “The real question is, what are we gonna do with the fake couple who know all our secrets?”

Scully tensed automatically, and out of the corner of her eye saw Mulder stiffen. She wasn't sure exactly, what these women could do, but she didn't want to take any chances.

Cassie gave Abigail a stern look. “You know that's not how this works.”

“I know. I know.” Abigail rolled her eyes. “Send them on their way with some homemade cookies and delightful memories of Grey House. And everything will take care of itself.”

“You mean we won't be able to find the town again,” Mulder said.

“Or,” Cassie paused, giving them both an appraising look. “We invite them to stay.”

Scully frowned, searching for a threat in her words, but she couldn't find one. “What are you saying?”

The knowing smile returned to Cassie's lips. “You could stay in Middleton. Join the town.”

“And do what?” Scully asked.

“Whatever you wish. Perhaps Sam could use a colleague at his practice.” She turned her attention to Mulder. “There's something for everyone in Middleton. It has plenty of mysteries of its own.”

Mulder seemed frozen, as if mediating some kind of internal battle.

“I'm sorry,” Scully said. “It's very nice of you to offer. But we—we have lives, we have jobs, we have—” she stopped, not wanting to say anything else. Maybe she had commitments and _possibilities_ back home, but as far as she knew, Mulder didn't.

“You could be Middleton's newest reunited couple,” Abigail spoke up. “Few people can resist it here.”

“Actually, we're not—” she was going to say "together", but she glanced down at the ring on her finger sparkling in the light and was surprised at how real and right it suddenly felt.

“Just relax and let Middleton work its magic.”Abigail folded her arms and leaned against the door frame. “You won't even miss it.” She winked at Scully.

It gave her a chill. “Miss what?” she asked.

“The real world.” Abigail's pose was relaxed but her gaze bored into Scully's. “What might have been. You stay here and it's all sunshine and roses. From my store, of course.” She smiled coyly.

Scully shook her head, feeling slightly woozy. It wouldn't have surprised her if she'd somehow been hypnotized. She certainly felt like she was in a suggestible state. The words were resonating.

“You'd be safe here,” Cassie said. “Good things happen in Middleton and trouble passes us by.”

Scully glanced at Mulder. He had that faraway look he got when he was thinking, or deciding something with dire consequences.

“No one would be able to come looking for us?” he asked in a quiet voice and Scully wondered if he was thinking what she was—bitter thoughts about the last year. Where was this safe haven when they needed it a year ago? When she and Mulder and William could have settled here and been okay, been happy. Together.

But everything was different now. It was all changed. She searched Mulder's face again, looking for a give away. Was that still what he wanted? A place to hide? With her? Did he still want to settle down and pretend to be unaffected by their long and impossibly complicated past? To stay here in the hopes that they would forget it all somehow, just wake up one day and only have vague memories of some private medical practice and a relationship with all the normal hallmarks and no recollection of all the things that they'd seen together. Everything they'd uncovered and all that they hadn't. 

Once upon a time, settling down in a sleepy little town with Mulder had been near the top of her list. Together, untouched by the world and its secrets. At peace with themselves and each other.

“I can't stay,” she said again, but more firmly this time. Yes, she realized, she did believe that a safe place existed here. She had always known, in fact that there existed a safer, more comfortable place. A simpler path. And she simply hadn't chosen it. Again and again. From leaving medicine for the FBI, to accepting her assignment with the x-files where she'd spent year after year doubting her own senses and fighting for proof; from her decision to give up William for adoption, to the final time she'd told Mulder she couldn't be with him anymore, she'd never made the easy choice.

And even though she had her regrets, if she had to go back, she'd probably do it all the same way again. The safe route wasn't hers.

She looked at Mulder.

He seemed to come out of his trance. “Me neither,” he said. “I can't stay.”

“Mulder...” she murmured. If he didn't want to stay just because she wasn't going to—

“It's not because of you, Scully,” he said as though reading her mind. “I've spent my life searching for the the existence of phenomena outside of our understanding. Extraterrestrials, supernatural beings, magic. I've been searching for the truth. This town is a magical place, but it's not the truth.”

Cassie nodded and smiled at them both. “Following my heart has always lead me to the right decision as well.”

X x X x X

“Mulder, are you sure?” Scully asked him again the next morning as they loaded up the car.

“Alright, you drive back to the city then.” He tossed her the keys. 

This time she caught them. “That's not what I'm talking about, Mulder. You're sure you don't want to stay somewhere where nothing truly bad can happen?

“What, while you and Meredith are living it up out there?”

She wished he wouldn't joke about it. Maybe he could be happy here. Magic or not. “Mulder—” 

“It's not real, Scully,” he said in a completely different tone of voice. “It's beautiful here. But it isn't real.”

“It's real to them,” she said. She slid the ouroboros ring off of her finger, but continued to hold it. “Mulder, I want you to be happy.”

He shut the trunk with a final-sounding thud. “What about you, Scully? You've been through enough for five lifetimes and you don't want to stay.”

She sighed. “I thought I wanted certainty. Knowing how something would turn out. Being able to depend on an answer that wouldn't ever change. But you're right, Mulder. That wouldn't feel real.”

“Takes away the magic, eh, Scully?”

She chuckled. “I suppose.” She handed him the ring and watched him tuck it back inside his jacket pocket.

Cassie, Abigail and Grace gathered on the front step of Grey House to see them off.

“Have a good trip,” Cassie told them, her dark hair fluttering in the breeze,

“Don't forget to leave a review,” smirked Abigail. “But make it good. Or something bad will happen.” Even by the cheerful tone of her voice, Scully couldn't tell if she was joking or not.

Grace waved to them. Scully still wasn't sure if she believed what they'd learned about her last night, but in the end, it didn't really matter.

“Good luck next year,” Scully told her, and genuinely hoped that one day she would hear of a Dr. Russel, breaking ground in her field.

Scully took a long look at Grey House, knowing she was making a choice she might one day regret, depending on what happened from here on out. The point was, she didn't know.

She told Mulder he was driving and took out her phone as she got into the passenger seat. She unlocked the screen and navigated to the text message she'd been avoiding. While Mulder drove them down Main Street, she resolutely typed a reply.

“You make a decision?” Mulder asked.

“Yeah, I did,” she said and hit send, transmitting her message through the ether. _I was thinking of you too. I'm sorry for disappearing. I missed you._

She stared a little hard at the Now Leaving Middleton sign as they passed the town line. Did she really believe a magical spell could make it disappear? She wasn't sure, but she didn't turn around to check.

A few miles down the road, Mulder passed her the map from his jacket pocket. “Well?” he asked. “Is it still there?”

She was about to open the map when her phone lit up in her hand with a new text. She didn't immediately look at it, but her stomach flipped just a little. She also didn't look at the map.

“If it's still there, would you change your mind?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Are you going to write about it on your blog?”

“I don't know yet.”

She was surprised, to say the least. “Mulder, it's the first real—the first _possible_ instance of anything paranormal you've found since leaving the x-files.”

Mulder shrugged. “Maybe some secrets are best kept secret. Who knows what a bunch of people looking for the promised town would do to the Merriwicks' spell.”

She looked sideways at him. “Who are you and what have you done with Fox Mulder?”

“I'm serious, Scully. Maybe it's best if it's just for the people who need it.”

She thought she saw his angle. “Are you hoping you'll be able to go back?”

“Maybe some day. It seems like it might be a nice place to retire. Get a little house, a nice picket fence. Maybe a couple of dogs. Ever heard of a Labradoodle, Scully?”

She laughed, and it felt good, like she hadn't laughed in a very long time.

“You could live next door,” he went on. “We'll have barbecues.”

“And no more chasing the unknown?”

“We could do it on weekends. Foil a conspiracy, be back for Sunday night Bingo at the Town Hall.”

Scully smiled and settled back in her seat. “Sounds perfect.”


End file.
